


One Different Night

by JakkuCrew (fromstars)



Series: One Different Night: TFA Modern AU [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breaking Up & Making Up, Comedy, Dramedy, Ensemble Cast, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Footnotes, Friendship/Love, Gay Poe Dameron, Gen, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Identity, LGBT Latino character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), Latino Character, M/M, New York City, Pesach | Passover, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Purim, Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life, The Skywalkers are Jewish, Yiddish, spanglish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6109139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromstars/pseuds/JakkuCrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forget advent, Christmas, and the fairy-tale power of love —  for the Skywalker family, the thirty days that matter are the ones that separate Purim and Passover. Seven different lives collide in New York City’s five boroughs: Naval aviator Poe Dameron finds himself on medical leave and roped into family-friend Leia Organa’s quest to track down her absentee twin brother. Fishel Griffin (just Finn, thanks), finds himself a roommate (Poe), a new employer (Leia’s somewhat estranged husband, Han Solo), and a maybe-more-than-friend & fellow ex-foster kid on the search for a family she’s never known (Rey Jones). Meanwhile, self-appointed family screwup and Rabbinical school dropout Ben Organa-Solo struggles to deal with his thesis in Clinical Psychology, a drunken run-in with his past, and the looming shadow of his missing Uncle, the Rabbi Luke Skywalker who went on a no-contact sabbatical five years ago and hasn’t been heard from since. Then former Cantor Lorsan Tekka gives Poe a USB drive with thousands of letters addressed to a beloved and saccharine advice columnist, <i>“Dear Mara,”</i> and the hunts for the column’s ghost writer, Rabbi Skywalker, and Rey’s family collide.</p><p>
  <i>Guess who’s coming to Seder…</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Best of a Bad Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry if you're not Jewish. There's footnotes.

**Part One**

_**— A Prologue** _

* * *

 

It all started with a hangover of biblical proportions.

Or, well - it started _well_ before the hangover. Before the drinking (also of biblical proportions, but we’re not there yet), before the spiels 1, and before running into his Ex dressed in a _shockingly_ well-crafted drag Maleficent costume — It started with Poe Dameron in Grand Central Station, minding his own damn business. Fat lot of good that did him.

And before _that_ , it started with Leia Organa meddling in everyone else’s business.  

 _Nu_ 2, you have to understand: it doesn’t matter if you get involved or don’t, life has a way of happening to you regardless.

 _A mentsh tracht und Gott lacht_. Man plans, and God laughs.  

Really, it started with God laughing.

 

1\. Spiels - it means “plays” literally, as in a Purim Spiel; Or something like a fast-talking, persuasive speech which may invoke skepticism in listeners. Eg. _Lando gave a whole spiel about his latest business venture and why people should invest in it. Leia was unconvinced._

2\.  Nu is a Yiddish word which means everything and nothing. It can mean So? Well? What’s going on? It can also transition between unrelated thoughts. Or like here, it can roughly mean, _“Listen…”_

 

* * *

  

We begin with 30 days until PESACH1  on _Wednesday, March 23rd 2016 (until the 24th)_.

Before sunset, which marks the beginning of the Jewish holiday of PURIM2

And the next-to-last day and last day of LENT3 for the Token Christian in this story.

 

1 That’s “Passover” in case you were wondering. A holiday commemorating the Jewish escape from slavery in Egypt, memorialized with four glasses of kosher wine, holding a piece of cracker for ransom, and a week’s worth of indigestion. 

2 The holiday where it’s technically a commandment to get unbelievably drunk - so drunk, you can’t tell the difference between “cursed be Haman” and “Blessed be Mordechai.” Or in non-biblical terms: to get so drunk you can't remember what you should _definitely_ regret. Unless that regret is a tattoo. A mistake Han Solo has made at least once. 

3 Roughly forty days of pretending to give up something like ice cream or candy so that on day forty-one you can gorge on Peeps and regret. Your  _abuela_ will not find it funny when you joke you are "giving up Lent for Lent." 

 

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

 

Luke Skywalker was a _luftmentsh_ .  4 He was dreamy, patient, and cloyingly idealistic — all things Leia Organa could appreciate in small amounts.

_Within reason._

But reason had ended a year into Luke’s no-contact Sabbatical. And that had been four years ago.  

She needed him, and he was nowhere to be found. The world didn’t need Rabbi Skywalker, but Leia Organa needed her brother. Or rather _(_ _and she hated to admit this)_  Leia Organa needed the executor of their family’s trust, who happened to be her twin.  

Once upon a time, Leia had been an idealist like Luke. She’d been the kind of bright, vivacious young woman who’d married her soulmate and had a child all before she’d turned twenty-five. The kind of girl who had her cake, and ate it too.  

Now, she was the older and wiser woman who realized she should’ve signed a prenup before marrying someone who had probably started his career with the mafia. The kind of woman who had plenty of hope, but nevertheless became familiar with terms of endearment like “separated husband,” “estranged son,” and “missing brother.”

She’d decided it was about high time to do something about all three of them. That was the plan: access her trust, and then start dealing with her strained marriage and uncommunicative son. If the family was going to stay together, then they had to actually bother with _being_ together. And if they were going to break apart…well, they needed to get back together and hash it out regardless.

But to do that, she needed Luke.

 And Luke…Luke had decided he didn’t want to be found. He didn’t update Facebook. He didn’t have a cellphone. No email address. She’d once tried a private detective who had managed only to bring her back a note that he’d been hand-delivered from a hired messenger that read: I’m alive. Love you. Luke, in neat cursive with a hastily scribbled heart next to his name.

It was then that Leia had figured out that you couldn’t use _reasonable_ methods to track down an _un_ reasonable man.

So when she finally tracked down a single thread that she thought would get her closer to finding her brother, she’d made a call to the only reliable young man she knew. A boy she’d seen grow up beside her own son. He was someone who’d just landed back in the city, who needed something to keep himself busy, and also wouldn’t be immediately turned away at the door of her lead.

 _Forget Carmen Sandiego_ , she’d said to Poe. _Where in the world is my brother?_

 

4\. Luftmensch - has their head in the clouds; the kind of person who forgets to deal with minor things like "taxes" and "having a job." 

* * *

 

“ _Bueno_ ,” Poe said distractedly as he answered his phone. He’d been weaving his way through the station, wondering if he’d ever felt positively about the place, or if it was just his current mood. It was crowded, noisy, and severely lacking in personal space — which wasn’t normally a problem for a born and bred New Yorker like Poe. Not unless they were also, like Poe, dealing with a little complex he liked to call: _‘I-Have-PTSD-And-Am-In-Denial-About-It.’_ Between _that_ little issue and his new service dog, Poe had recently come to appreciate personal space.

 “Sorry, Tia, could you say that again?” Poe sighed, gesturing for Bebé to heel.

“I said, it’s expensive, _Mijo_. I know you’ve been subletting your apartment, but if you’re going to be home for a few months, maybe think about getting yourself a roommate?” his Tia Tifa said, sighing loudly enough on the other end of the line that Poe could practically feel her breath on his ear.

“I know, I know, but I don’t know how long I’ll be here, and you know, it’s not like I expected to be back from my tour this early-” he commented, rolling his suitcase to a stand beside his feet. “Plus, you know, Señora Organa has already helped me with finding Bebé for me, and in return I’m going to be doing a favor for her…”

Poe fought back a sigh of his own. He usually had short-term subletters in his Spanish Harlem apartment. He’d even recently begun to interview for his next sublet while he was away, but life had gotten in the way of good plans. (Didn’t it always?)

The thing was, as far as Poe Dameron Bey could tell, no one ever planned for medical leave. And not a single member of his squadron ever expected him to be the one who was sent home from their tour early. You didn’t graduate Annapolis, Top Gun, and then serve as a _F/A-18 Hornet_ Aviator being fragile. It was pure, bad, — well, downright _shit_ \- luck. Human limits. And it sucked. Not to mention the surgeries — being flown to Qatar, then to Germany, and then flown back to Washington, poked and prodded at during each and every step of the way. If anyone had to ask...Poe _definitely_ wouldn’t recommend getting shot.

He began to walk again, Bebé at his side.

 “You should come over here before you go home to an empty apartment to unpack. Let us settle you in tomorrow morning,” Tia Delza said, her voice dripping with concern. “ _Ay_ , _mijo_ , you should get some rest.”

Which was in theory, Poe agreed, a really great idea. But he’d been doing nothing but lying around for days as it was. So while the offer was tempting, he wanted desperately to have a few hours of what amounted to peace and quiet in Manhattan.

Before he could reassure his Aunt that he was fine, however, Poe froze. He was still relatively close to the wall, and wasn’t blocking any foot traffic, but from the other side of the corridor, he caught the flash of a figure he hadn’t seen in five years.  

“Oh hell,” Poe said in such a way that he was positive even his Aunt heard the unspoken - ' _chinga tu madre'_ \- that lay underneath the less offensive English. “Tia, sorry, I’ll call you back, yes, there’s a thing that came up—“ he explained, desperately hoping that he would pass by unnoticed.

Today was just about the last day he’d wanted to run into an _Ex_ , and it was only by sheer luck that Poe had spotted him first. Something about being fifty percent leg and _one-hundred percent_ sullen Tolkein elf made this particular heartbreak easy to pick out in a crowd.

Poe apologized into his phone once more, herding Bebé and his suitcase along as he desperately tried to remain unnoticed. Rounding the corner of the hall, he was almost home free — until he walked face-first into someone else. Or rather, they walked face-first into him.

“Are you alright?” Poe asked, catching the other man by the elbow before he fell. He winced slightly as the movement was followed by a painful twinge in his shoulder.

“Yeah, oh, man, I’m sorry,” the other man replied quickly, looking concerned as he caught sight of Bebé, who had shifted to wedge herself in front of Poe. “I really have no idea how to get out of here, so I was trying to follow the signs, and, well,” he shrugged sheepishly. In one hand he held a crumpled subway map, and in the other he clutched an overly large black and white dufflebag.

Tourist. Of course.  

“Forget about it,” Poe said, casually signaling to Bebé to relax. “You’re about to save my skin from a really awkward encounter, so I’ll give you directions out. Where’re you headed?”  

“Excellent question,” the younger man said brightly, his dark brown eyes lighting up. “I have absolutely no _idea_.” 

Poe stared at him. “Uptown? Midtown? Downtown?” Poe prompted, gesturing at the map. “The exits are this way.”

“Just wandering the city, I think,” he replied, moving to let Poe begin to lead the way towards an exit.

“That all? It’s a lot of city to wander,” Poe said, trying not to raise a brow. Technically, he understood being twenty- _ish_ and wanting to go wherever the wind took him, but it seemed like a slightly insane urge in retrospect. Then again, from another perspective, he was sure joining the Navy also seemed ill-advised.

“Got a name?” he asked politely, keeping in step.

“Fishel Griffin. That’s two first names, not a last name,” the younger man said confidently, adjusting his dufflebag as they walked.  

“Fishel…” Poe trailed off. “That’s a _helluvalot_ of name.” He paused, a grin spreading over his face. “...So, do people call you ‘ _Fish_ ’ or ‘ _Finn_ ’?”  

Poe’s new companion groaned. “Go with Finn. Definitely the lesser of two evils.”

“Finn it is,” he agreed. “I’m Poe. Poe Dameron. First name, last name,” Poe gestured at the golden retriever at his side, “-And this is my new dog, Bebé.”

 

* * *

 

Finn had been in New York City for a record of ten minutes before getting completely lost. On the upside, despite everyone’s warnings to the contrary, New Yorkers didn’t really seem that bad. It had taken him ten minutes to get lost and nearly knock a guy with a service dog over, but about half an hour to end up finding a place to stay while squeezed onto a subway train.

“Really?” Finn said in slight disbelief when Poe made the offer to let him rent his extra bedroom. “Just like that…? I mean, shouldn’t I be worried you’re crazy, or something?”  

Poe laughed. “You need a place to stay.”

“I need a place to stay,” Finn agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, not to complain, but…” _Well, wasn’t it weird?_ More or less weird than going to New York with nothing more than a duffle bag of stuff and enough money to maybe last a week?

Poe shrugged. “I can’t take on more permanent tenants while I’m in town, and you seem kind of desperate.”

“Oh,” Finn said. “Yeah, that makes sense.” Finn glanced over his shoulder at the train pulled to a stop. “So where exactly are we headed again?”  

“We’re on the green line now,” Poe explained, glancing down at Bebé’s fidgeting as she sat obediently beside his feet. “When you wanna get to the apartment, you take the 4, 5, or 6 uptown to 103rd. I live in East Harlem.”

 “Which is different from regular Harlem?” Finn asked, the names of Harlem Renaissance poets floating through his memories. He’d liked studying the movement in high school, but had to admit he didn’t know where the neighborhood began or ended outside of books.  

“Er,” Poe paused, tapping the silver pole he’d been holding on to. “There’s Harlem, and then it’s broken down further, sort of. You have Central and West Harlem, that’s what everyone thinks of, which includes the Heights, above Columbia, and then you’ve got Spanish Harlem, which is also East Harlem.” He paused, and then jabbed a finger in the direction of a blonde woman sitting in front of the subway map.  

“East Harlem had Italian Harlem — all the mobsters, yeah? Then it became Spanish Harlem, mostly Puerto Ricans. And then my folks — I’m Cuban and Guatemalan — other Latinos moved in. So a lot of us also call it _El Barrio_ …”

Finn blinked. “Do I need to remember all of that?” he asked, wobbling slightly as the subway lurched forwards again.

“Nah,” Poe shook his head. “I mean, give yourself a few weeks. You’ll spend two months here and then find yourself explaining to some lost kid they need to be specific about which A train they need, and you can’t take the 6 to the A.”

At this, Finn raised a brow, and tilted his head, mirroring the slight cocking of Bebé’s ears.

Poe laughed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured Finn. “I’ll get you a map from the bodega. Which,” Poe said, “—we definitely have to go by there anyways. I promised an old family friend I’d run this errand that’s on the way.”  

“An errand?” Finn repeated. “Wait, bodega?”

“Uh. It's like...like a pharmacy had sex with a deli,” Poe explained. “And the errand is just meeting this guy — well he’s a friend of my family friend's twin brother, and she’s been trying to find her his new address. The brother, not this friend. You don’t have to come with me for that part. Or follow any of that.”

 The train pulled to a stop, and Poe gestured for Finn to follow him out.  

“Oh. That’s cool. I think?” Finn agreed pleasantly. “You can just let me get stuff at the uh, _lovechild_ of Subway and CVS?”

 “Something like that,” Poe laughed. “C’mon, it’s a short walk.”

 


	2. Draw Lots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAG PURIM SAMEACH!
> 
>  
> 
> You’ll be delighted to know it has been another year of explaining to gentiles why people are not booing when someone says “Hey, man!” but in fact, madly groggering* when someone says the name “Haman.” (boooooo.)
> 
> * It’s a noisemaker. A grogger. I think you can say groggering. Who really knows? 
> 
> Now, unfortunately, I was not able to finish covering the Purim events of this tale before real life Purim ended. This was because I had to grade 54 undergrad midterms and also lovingly make my Princess Leia costume for my synagogue's Star Wars themed Purim fest. (Yeah. Oh man, guys, my Rabbi bought Poe Dameron's leather jacket and carried a BB-8 mug.) So you can understand. The next chapter should hopefully be up soon.

 

The best kind of crime is one you couldn’t have possibly committed. Forget perfect murders and locked room scenarios — the _real_ magic lay in stealing things that never existed to begin with.

And according to the Nevada State department of motor vehicles, the faded silver 1964 Ford Falcon that Rey Jones had ‘borrowed’ from her former employer didn’t exist. It didn’t have serial numbers. Unkar — owner of an automotive junk yard and pawn shop, and Rey’s ex-boss — never would have admitted it outright, but Rey knew he’d obtained the baby through less than legal means. So she didn’t exactly expect to have the theft reported. And with 2,521 and a half miles between Las Vegas and New York City (give or take), Rey figured they wouldn’t have much luck finding the _Falcon_ either.

Playing real-life Grand _Theft Auto_ had been easier than finding Manhattan street parking — which was just as bad as driving down the Strip in Vegas.

When she finally stopped, Rey rolled her window down and turned to the grumpy calico in the passenger seat.

“Stay there, Mr. Greedo,” she directed, grabbing her hiking staff. “I’m going to get us dinner.”

* * *

Fifty dollars and a shopping list later, Poe had directed Finn to the bodega with instructions to get himself a map and some basic supplies. Poe could loan the kid toothpaste, but he wasn’t exactly rarin’ to share his brush.

With that settled, he promised he’d meet back with Finn as soon as he was done running his errand. Poe knew that Lorsan Tekka was expecting him, but he didn’t hold any illusions about dallying for too long with the older man.

Or rather, Poe knew all too well _he_ was going to be the one to cut the Cantor short during his visit.

He knocked on the door of the apartment, a quick rap beside the frame where Tekka’s mezuzah was affixed. Like the man himself, the case adorning his doorway was well-aged, slender, and a bit ostentatious.

Poe took a half-step back when the door swung open dramatically.

“Come in, come in,” Tekka insisted, glancing fervently down the hallway before Poe crossed the threshold. “I heard the Princess wanted my information,” he said, gesturing for Poe to sit on his overstuffed muted floral couch.

The plastic couch covering squeaked in protest when Poe sat down. “You know she doesn’t want to be called Princess,” Poe said, directing Bebé to lay down beside his seat.

“To me, she’s as good as royalty,” Tekka sniffed, bringing over a tea tray to his coffee table.

"That she is," Poe agreed amiably. 

Tekka placed a small cup on a blue coaster, before he disappeared back into his kitchen. He looked over the small counter that divided the room from the living area, and continued — “Black tea?”

“Please,” he said. “So you might have a map to Luke?” Poe pressed.

“A map? _Feh!”_ Tekka scoffed, bringing over his teapot. “You think he’s gonna leave a map that just up and leads to wherever he’s hiding? People don't just leave behind scavenger hunt maps when they don't want to be found. The man doesn’t even have a _Facebook!_ Not a _chance_. — Can you imagine? Rabbi Skywalker has just checked in on _two-square_ , problem solved!”

“— _Foursquare_ ,” Poe corrected. Tekka shrugged it off.

“What is he gonna do—,” Cantor Tekka threw out an arm in emphasis, not bothering to wait for Poe’s answer. “—Go out looking for the Temple or something? We all know where it is! It hasn’t moved in two thousand years!” he huffed, tugging on the tea bags that were steeping in his kettle.

“Then…” Poe ventured, feeling somewhat lost in the conversation. “You found Luke in Israel?”

“Not a chance! I found some clues, and I don’t think our old friend is so far away we couldn’t just take a train.” Tekka paused for dramatic effect, and reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. “A thumb drive with thousands of entries from a little advice column — _‘Dear Mara’._ That’s how you’ll find Luke.”

Poe took the USB drive carefully, and raised a brow. Tekka poured his tea.

“An advice column?” Poe asked, reaching for his cup of tea.

“An advice column,” Tekka nodded sagely. “It took me months of reading it, but I’m convinced. _This_ is how you’ll find Luke.”

“By reading _Dear Mara?_ …What does an advice column have to do with Luke?” Poe said, placing the USB in Bebé’s vest pocket.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tekka said with a simple hand wave, “—simple. Because Luke _is_ Dear Mara.”

* * *

Upon further reflection, Finn was pretty sure he should’ve just waited for Poe inside the bodega. On the one hand, waiting there would have been awkward. But on the other, it would’ve meant avoiding walking right into a mugging.

He’d heard a girl shout from the alley beside the bodega, and without thinking, had gone to see if someone needed help. The only problem was, Finn couldn’t be sure whom was attacking who.

One muscular man had been knocked to the ground, while another was scrambling away from the jabbing thrust of the girl’s staff.

“Hey!” Finn called out, “Are you okay—?”  
  
The brunette whirled on him, taking a threatening step forwards. Finn watched as the man on the ground pushed to his feet, and shoved passed him. When he turned, the girl struck out at him, hitting Finn’s knees with a resounding thwack.

Finn crumpled, bodega bags still in hand.

“ _Ow_ ,” he protested.

“Forget this. That bitch is _crazy_ —,” one of the men said, yanking on the sleeve of his partner as they edged away from the girl.

She frowned at Finn.

“I don’t appreciate being mugged,” she said sharply.

“I was trying to see if you were okay!” Finn said, gathering his bags. “I heard a shout—“

“Because they were mugging me!” she said, waving her staff threateningly.

“I was going to _help_ you!” Finn huffed.

“Well I didn’t _know_ that,” she replied, before hesitantly extending a hand to him. Finn took it gratefully, marveling at the way her slender and calloused palm fit into his own hand. She was stronger than she looked, pulling him to his feet with a sharp tug.

“…Thanks. I’m glad you’re…okay,” Finn said lamely. He hadn’t actually helped, but perhaps it was the thought that counted. “I’m Fi—I’m _Finn_. I’m new to the city.”

“Oh,” she said, brightening a fraction. “I’m Rey. Nice to meet you. I’m sorry I kneecapped you.”

“Right,” Finn said, his legs still throbbing with pain. “Rey, that’s a nice name.”

At this, she smiled. Finn wondered if his heart started to beat faster because she was beautiful, or because his knees were probably bruising.

Rey turned, and hefted up her own bags from the ground. “And thanks for, you know…uh, _trying_ to save me.”

“Well,” Finn shrugged. “I _am_ kind of a superhero, if you must know.”

“A superhero,” She said, biting her lip to stifle a laugh. “I’ve never met one of those before.”

“Well,” Finn smiled back, “There’s a first time for everything, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are adored and lovingly re-read. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly? This is a year overdue, and 2/3 of what the original chapter was intended to be has been written for ages. But frankly, it's more worth it I think, at this point, to give you the 2/3 now, and then just start the next scene as another chapter. Might actually get things written faster. 
> 
> I'm claiming Fanfic WIP Amnesty - it's not quite what I intended to post as this whole chapter, but by g-d something is better than nothing, right? 
> 
> ....Right.

_Long before Gretchen Wieners arrived on the scene, complete with hair volumizing secrets - there was Mazel Kanata._

* * *

 

Mazel Kanata adjusted her sapphire blue silk turban with a sharp tug, pursing her lips as she eyed her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She pushed a bottle of brandy to the side of the shelf and leaned in, carefully swiping a layer of deep burgundy lipstick over her lips. Maz gave herself a critical look in the mirror before she leaned back, reaching for a spare napkin to blot with. When she was satisfied with her makeup, she set her lipstick down on the counter, and set about preparing for the opening of her club.

She'd managed to slip on her third cocktail ring before the back door of the club beeped to announce a new arrival. Maz frowned, then looked up, catching her guests out of the corner of her eye.

"Ah," she purred, stretching out a slender arm with a dramatic flourish. Her bracelets chimed with her movement, and Mazel smiled warmly. "Arturito," she greeted with a wave, "-Cecil. If anyone else was sneaking in before official open, I would have them kicked out," she said, waving a finger at them.

Art laughed. Cecil straightened, clearing his throat as he smoothed out invisible wrinkles in his shirt.

Cecil placed a hand on Art's arm lightly, getting his husband's attention before he spoke. "Mazel, we don't mean to impose on you while you're preparing to open, but we have some something we thought that you might want to hear of before you become busy with more important things."

"What Cecil is trying to say," Art signed, "Is that we think we found the Falcon."

Cecil coughed primly. "Indeed. And while I would rather not get involved in the - the disagreements between our princess and Han, it seemed like we ought to at least tell you."

Maz adjusted her large framed glasses and leaned over her countertop. "You want I should tell Han about the Falcon? Or what?" She pursed her lips. "How do we even know it's the same car? That thing was always junk."

"Here," Art gestured, fiddling with his iPhone for a moment before he pulled up the right picture on his screen. He passed his phone over the counter, waiting for Mazel to inspect the image. She raised a brow and silently zoomed in on the photo, scrutinizing every ding and scratch on the car's body for recognition.

"It's undeniably the Falcon," Cecil sighed, "Or at least, it's most of the Falcon's parts."

"Mmm," Maz agreed with a nod. "So it is," she said, sliding the phone back towards Arturito.

"Strange that it would show up after all these years," Art signed before he placed his phone back into his pocket. "And no sign of Luke."

"Ah," Maz said, tapping her nose thoughtfully. "Exactly--!" she said, spinning back to face the mirror behind her. She quickly began to count the bottles lining the shelves, stopping only when she hit the right number to reach forwards and grab an older brandy vintage. Mazel lifted the bottle over her head and reached back to place the bottle on the countertop. With a sweep of the empty space on the shelf, she gathered up a long forgotten Jack of Spades playing card and a small mahjong token.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Cecil ventured as he eyed the brandy bottle.

"What?" Maz said, turning back towards them both. "Oh, don't fuss so much, Cecil. I think I know what to do."

"Call the police?" Art signed, giving Maz a dubious look.

"Absolutely not," Maz said, setting the playing card down on the counter. "There," she said, sliding the card towards Art. "Take that with you. The back peels off - Han used to have a whole deck like this, you see? He gifted a similar set to Luke. Just don't peel off the back before you need to use it, Arturito."

Art shrugged. "Okay."

"Well if we aren't calling the police," Cecil sighed, "Then what? I absolutely refuse to commit any kind of criminal enterprise just because we saw the Falcon back in New York again--,"

"Oh hush, Cec," Maz chided. "Don't worry about that jalopy, it's Han's business, and he ought to take care of it," she said twisting the Mahjong tile in her hand. "You take the card, and I'll visit an old friend about a deposit box later. Hmm?"

"Right," Cecil replied, watching as his husband slid the playing card into his front shirt pocket. "And if anyone asks us about the car?"

"What car?" Maz smiled.

* * *

 

It took Rey three hair ties and a handful of bobby pins that she'd found scattered across the floor of her car to finish pulling her hair out of the way. She worked her hair up quickly, pulling each bun tight. When she finished, she checked for loose strands in the rear view mirror of the Falcon, twisting the last remaining bobby pin between her teeth. Rey pursed her lips thoughtfully before spitting out the bobby pin into her palm.

She sighed, and then slumped back against her seat.

"Well Greedo," she said, reaching over to scratch behind the tabby cat's ears, "I've got to do an oil change and check to make sure we're all in working order, but you have food and litter, so you can't complain any."

Greedo gave her a hoarse meow that made Rey snort with laughter.

"Got it," she said, flicking the bell on Greedo's collar in response. When she leaned forwards, she caught sight of the crumple of newspapers underneath the cat.

"Oy," Rey frowned, "Asscat, you're sitting on the classified ads. I need those."

Greedo gave her a disgruntled meow by way of reply as she yanked the papers out from underneath him. He grumbled in the passenger seat for a moment before turning around and curling up, tail blocking his face from view.

"Don't be so grumpy," Rey said absently as she flicked open one of the papers she'd grabbed earlier in the day. "In a city with this many taxis, there's got to be a lot of need for mechanics, right? And if not cars, then maybe I can work with computers..."

Rey paused, then looked over at Greedo, who had started to snore noisily.

"Right," she said, scanning the page. Rey leaned forwards, reaching for a red pen she'd lifted from an otherwise unmemorable 7-11 along the interstate. She bit off the pen cap and began circling options, pressing the paper across the top of her dashboard.

"Well," she said, this time mostly to herself as she paused over a company listing for Calrissian Car Parts and Auto Repair, "-I suppose anything's better than working for Unkar, at least." 

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see any brainstorming or talking I do about this entire AU, check out my tag [#SW: One Different Night.](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/sw%3A-one-different-night) Many more characters will end up showing up in this fic, including Cecil and Art (C3PO and R2D2), known Yenta Maz Kanata, and more. 
> 
> Comments are probably the best thing in the whole world and extremely motivating. Thanks for reading!


End file.
